The HMS Morgan
by Solo Ensemble
Summary: A period piece: Doctor-turned-Rebel-turned-Pirate Jason Morgan discovers a stowaway aboard his ship, and their journeys together change the course of English history. God, I suck at these sum-ups.
1. Aboard the HMS Morgan

**Prompt - Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world / She took the midnight train going anywhere / Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit / He took the midnight train going anywhere - Journey**

**Note –** Thanks to **Jennifer** for this prompt, and for being a member at Solo Ensemble! I wasn't meticulous enough to pick a specific time period for this fic, so just think of it as entirely made up. (I.e., please excuse all anachronisms, because there WILL be anachronisms.)

**Aboard the H.M.S. Morgan**

Jason hissed when the whip lashed and curled against his bare back, easily breaking skin that had already been raw and abused to begin with. But he didn't allow the overseer the satisfaction of cursing, weeping, or worse, falling to his knees. No man had ever brought Jason to his knees, and no man ever would. It didn't matter if he were a medical practitioner or a slave, he would never debase himself like that in front of anyone. He would die before he did.

His fate had been sealed when he had answered his door late one night. One minute he was a doctor with a private clinic near Baker Street, and the next he was mistaken as a revolutionary, charged with attempting to dethrone Good King Richard's brother King Lucas, and made a slave of the crown. He'd only narrowly escaped his fate of being sent to Australia or the colonies and instead toiled on the royal grounds for the cronies of the man that had wrongfully taken the throne while his good brother was off fighting for Jerusalem.

It was only his first week of conscription and he was already formulating a plan for escape. In that short time, he'd become good friends with several of the other revolutionaries – the men who were actually fighting to free England from a tyrant while he had snored peacefully in his bed, men much braver and ready for action than he had ever been – and planned to include them as well. They could succeed if they all worked together, for each man had individual skills that would be a great asset to the group.

Francis was easily the most vigilant of the group. There were few things that escaped his notice. Jason liked to think that he was conscientious, but Francis's power of observation and keen recollection far surpassed his own. He remembered meticulous schedules and various passwords and discreetly scribbled notes from one overseer to the other, and would be of much help in their great escape.

Damien Spinelli was an orphan boy with an honest, trusting face that he used fully to his every advantage. Spinelli, as they called him, could exact any kind of information, sensitive or not, from anyone he met. He had the easy but hesitant voice of a youth, the wide green eyes of an innocent mongrel, and the scrappy appearance of a young man in need of clean food, a good bath, and a kind word. He was just the sort that people took into their confidences, and, oh, how Spinelli manipulated them! The boy was also something of a dreamer, and quite the astrologist, and his knowledge of the heavens would prove quite useful to them in the nautical sense.

The Italian-born Ritchie Zacchara was the strongest in the group. He could break through a thick board of wood with one hand, push the giant wheel around with the help of only two other men, and there were rumors that he'd wrestled a mountain lion and won during his brief stay in the colonies. His younger brother Gianni was the charming one. He was quite a beautiful boy and knew how to use his charm and manners just as Spinelli used his woe-is-me green eyes and gentle lisp. His ability to blend into any sort of society – high or low – would prove a great asset to them in the future.

They received one hour every day as leisure time, aside from their scripted hours for sleep and the half-hours for meals, and the men all used this time wisely. Once Jason had explained the plan to them, their thoughts were occupied by little else than the wish to leave the wretched palace. And finally, the day was upon them. After they finished cleaning out King Lucas's stables, they would be given leave to return to their quarters for the night. And that was when they'd make their move and leave the castle far, far behind.

The whip cracked again behind him but thankfully didn't graze Jason. He could feel the blood trickling down his back and soaking into the black cotton pants he wore, and he'd have to have Spinelli disinfect it for him and wrap it up before they left, just to be on the safe side.

"Morgan! Zacchara – younger Zacchara!"

That was the overseer. Jason stopped and exchanged quietly anxious looks with Ritchie, wondering what it meant for the moment and for their plans that night.

"You pigs! Get you to the palace, immediately! You're to have an audience with King Lucas!"

Jason's eyes widened; this was worse than he'd thought. Nothing good ever came to any man that had a private audience with the King. Gianni cleared his throat, dusted off his palms and nodded curtly at Jason. Though his back was stinging, it would have to wait. Jason nodded back and wiped his grimy hands on his pants, following the young man. Ritchie resisted the urge to reach out to his younger brother and instead gave both men knowing looks, wishing them luck.

"Ay! I didn't say the rest of you slops could stop! Back to work!"

The whip cracked again behind them as Jason and Gianni trudged up the walkway leading to the stables.

"What do you think this is about?"

Jason shook his head. "I have no idea."

"Think it'll…make us late returning to our quarters?"

They couldn't be too careful when referring to their plans for escape; the King had spies everywhere.

"I hope not."

* * *

They hadn't even been given a chance to wash up or put on clean clothes before meeting with King Lucas. Instead, Jason and Gianni had been marched like prisoners into one of the King's private parlors and once they got there, Jason realized why. It was the sign of a truly small, truly pathetic and paranoid man that he had to have his guests brought to him in humbled states so as to reassert and reaffirm his own power and control.

King Lucas didn't bother with any pleasantries. "You may leave now."

The guards that had brought them nodded in unison and quickly withdrew. Jason and Gianni exchanged sidelong glances and waited, stock-still, to see what trouble the foolhardy King could propose.

"Morgan and Zacchara, is it?"

The men nodded in unison.

King Lucas stroked the gentle silver hairs on his chin and frowned at them. "You two were leading the group of revolutionaries that sought to depose me, according to my reports."

Jason made absolutely sure to keep his features placid, and not form any expression that gave the slightest indication that the King's sources – namely the bumbling detectives Marcus Taggert and Malcolm Scorpio – couldn't be trusted to point out the location of the sun at midday.

"It's untrue, Your Highness," Gianni spoke up when it became clear that the King was looking for a response.

Luke's hands curled into loose fists behind his back as he paced in front of them. "Were you part of the revolutionaries, yes or no?"

"Yes," they replied in unison. To deny it was foolish: they'd already been convicted by the King's appointed court and to challenge the ruling would earn them even more trouble for daring to deny the King's word.

"But we were not the leaders," Gianni sought to explain. "I-We were among the lower ranking members of the group."

In truth, it was only Gianni that was a lower-ranking member of the revolutionary group. Jason was just an innocent bystander that answered his door and was found bandaging the leader's sword wound when the King's officers burst into the hideout and arrested them all. But they couldn't challenge the King's Court, so whether he liked it or not Jason was included in the lower ranks of the Black Lions, those that sought to depose Lucas and bring the good King Richard the Lion-Heart back home safely.

"My sources tell me that you two were instrumental in formulating the plans to depose me," the King bit off, his lips curling into a derisive sneer. "They just came to me with the information today, one full week after the planned attack. Do you dare to contradict the word of my royal officers?"

Both Gianni and Jason remained silent.

"I thought not," Luke growled, coming to a stop directly in front of them. "I know what I have to do – without the two of you brilliant leaders, your little group won't last. And no one will dare challenge my right to the throne."

Jason could see Gianni's breathing quicken, and he knew the hot-blooded Italian was starting to get upset. If King Lucas was thinking what they thought he was thinking, the two of them wouldn't be making it back to their quarters. And though their disappearance wouldn't extinguish the flames of revolution in England, it would most definitely put a halt to the escape plan they had worked all week to prepare.

The tension was so thick and oppressive that no man heard the sound of soft approaching footsteps until the intruder was tapping on the door.

"Uncle, I had hoped you would join me-"

"You two will be beheaded at sunrise." Luke's eyes widened at the sound of a gasp, and they all turned to see a young woman in a pale silk gown and matching veil standing at the door. "Oh. Elizabeth, what are you doing here?"

The young woman that could only be the Princess – the one whose beauty was so legendary that her uncle the King demanded she wear a veil to guard her modesty – drew back a small step. "I-I only wished to know if you would join me for tea in the gardens. I've been by myself all day and only hoped…"

"Yes, yes," Luke answered quickly. "You will excuse us now, Elizabeth, I'm dealing with our revolutionary friends presently."

Jason and Gianni watched the young woman whose face they could not clearly see, and it was clear that she hesitated at the door. "…Uncle?"

"What is it now, Elizabeth?"

"Uncle, I-I overheard your orders for these men that you claim planned to overthrow you, and I can't help but wonder if…"

"What, now? Come, child, out with it."

"I wonder if it would be better to make an example to them in front of their men."

"That is what I propose to do with the beheading. You should leave, Elizabeth, it's unseemly for women to hear this talk. I shall meet you in the gardens."

"No, Uncle, it is only my meaning that if you announced to all the charged criminals that you are aware of the dealings of these two and that instead of punishing them corporally, you are going to leave them to their wretched state, it should only serve to increase your standing in their eyes."

Luke scowled. "And who says my standing requires increasing?"

The young woman would not be cowed, but they could hear the slightest waver in her voice. "Not I, Uncle, but the fact remains that the ruler is hardly ever thought of very highly in the eyes of his prisoners. If you show these men mercy, it will surely undermine their cause and cause their own men to give them question when they return unharmed."

King Lucas actually appeared to consider this for a moment, much to Jason and Gianni's surprise. According to the rumors circulating within the palace walls Princess Elizabeth, the only child of the good King Richard and the only one to propagate the Webber family royal line unless her cousin Lucky came to power, which was certainly a possibility, was far from fond of her uncle. She didn't like the restrictions he placed on her and she didn't like how he ruled, which was why it was surprising to both men how Luke actually listened to what she had to say.

"Please reconsider, Uncle."

Luke growled low in his throat as he surveyed the two dirty, disheveled men, but his expression softened when he met the Princess's veiled gaze. "Very well, Elizabeth, but only for you."

He swept his royal cloak around his shoulders and gallantly strode toward the door leading into the massive royal washing chambers. "I will meet you in the gardens presently, my dear. Have the guards take these pigs away."

The Princess waited until her uncle was out of earshot, then looked at Jason and Gianni. Well, really, they couldn't be sure whether she truly was looking at them or not: the poor girl's veil was a terrible inconvenience.

Gianni was the first to speak, and he surprised them all by taking two large steps toward the Princess and dropping to his knee in a manner befitting the most sophisticated courtier. Jason's lips curled into a grimace when his young friend reached for the Princess's hand and dropped a feather-light kiss on her knuckles.

"Grazie, Princess," he murmured, rising only when she nodded her head. "We owe you our lives."

"You are welcome," she replied quietly, her head turning very slightly toward the wash chambers just to make sure her uncle hadn't yet emerged. "I believed you when you said that you weren't leading the revolutionaries. Not that I entirely disagree with their goals…"

Gianni grinned widely. "We thought not, Princess. We all pray for your father's expedient return home."

She clasped her hands demurely at her waist, and the gentle breeze made her light veil flutter at her nose. "As do I."

The Princess cleared her throat delicately and looked over at Jason, who made no gesture to kneel or even come closer. "You're bleeding, Sir. You'd best have someone take a look at that before you lose much blood."

"I was just going to see to that now," he grumbled, roughly pushing past Gianni and taking care to step widely around her toward the door. "Come, Gianni, we're late."

The Italian youth stared after his friend, his jaw slack, then made a quick, low bow to the Princess. "My apologies, your Highness, for his behavior. Please accept them."

"He's been hurt badly and was only just threatened with a public hanging," she murmured, turning toward Jason. "I will not fault him for that. But you'd best be going before he tries my patience with his sterling manners."

Gianni couldn't help but smile. "Good day to you, Princess."

He trotted off behind Jason, who was storming down the back corridor leading to the servants' stairs with long, hard strides. "What in God's name is wrong with you, Jason? That was the Princess! You owe her your allegiance!"

"I owe Richard my allegiance," he snarled. "It is reserved for him and him alone, not his incompetent brother and not his little snip of a daughter."

"That little snip saved your life!" Gianni shook his head when Jason could only snarl in reply. "You know I'm right. And if the Princess wasn't so mild-mannered, she could have easily returned you to your fate of a public hanging for your behavior. What have I told you, Jason? You must consider the image you are putting forward if you hope to have things done your way."

"The only thing I want done right now is for us to return to our quarters," Jason scowled. "I'm going to take care of my wounds and then we'll put our plan in motion. The ship is ready and docked?"

Gianni nodded reluctantly. "Yes, Francis and Ritchie took care of it this morning during their leisure time. It's hidden along the docks and waiting for us."

* * *

_That night…_

She couldn't take it anymore.

England was her home, her country, her birthright, and it was all ruined and unfortunately seemed beyond repair so long as the current King was in power. She'd never forgive her uncle Lucas for swooping in and claiming the throne so soon after her father left to reclaim Jerusalem. He had asserted himself as the Crown head, with his mangy brats lining up for the throne. She'd sooner hang herself than see her colicky cousin Lucky be presented for coronation! And her cousin Lulu, the Duchess of Hastings? Unspeakable!

And now they'd just gotten word that her father had been killed in battle in the Holy Land, and his body wouldn't even be returned home for burial. There was nothing for her here, now. Her family was gone, her homeland was under the control of a ruthless tyrant, and she would soon be relegated as an afterthought. It didn't matter that Luke currently treated her with affection; that would change soon enough, once his own family was firmly in place to continue the royal line.

There was only one solution, and that was to leave England behind. It broke her heart to have to do so, but she had to believe that at a time like this, self-preservation was more important than staying behind as the last relic of a dying royal family.

And so, clad in breeches, a white linen shirt, and wrapped up in a black cloak, the former Princess Elizabeth Webber, daughter of King Richard the Lion-heart, stole down the servants' steps and through the housekeeper's chambers, and out into the night. It was easy enough for her to climb a tree and scale the palace walls now that she was wearing boots and not those dainty silk slippers, and it was certainly much easier to see without that cumbersome veil her ridiculous Uncle had ordered her to wear.

She hadn't quite settled on a particular destination and so headed for the river. It cut right through London and was busier in the dead of the night than even the busiest street at midday. She could easily stow away on a ship and wake up in the morning adrift on the ocean, bound for some far-off locale where no one would know her name. Maybe she'd end up in the colonies, or India, or somewhere in far-off Africa. As long as she was out of England, she would be safe. There was no telling when her uncle decided that a 'mysterious illness' was in order for the former Princess, and that her majestic and lavish funeral would be the perfect last rites of a vanished family.

She had to move quickly and carefully to stay out of sight as she stole along the waterfront. A brisk run put several blocks between her and the busiest docking section of the river, and then she had some peace at last. Her movements became slower, craftier, easier, as Elizabeth searched out the perfect boat on which to make her escape. It couldn't be too small, otherwise she'd be discovered immediately and tossed right back onto shore. And it couldn't be too big, either, for obvious reasons. No, she needed a boat of reasonable size that would accommodate a crew of reasonable size.

And after prowling around for the better part of an hour, she found the perfect one. It was old but looked sturdy, and she could tell the mast had been very recently repaired and the sails newly outfitted. Someone had lovingly prepared the craft for imminent voyage, and it was her perfect getaway.

Carefully, she stole along the docks to the pier, then dashed out toward the boat, which was hidden quite cleverly. A rope had been left hanging casually to the dock – lucky for her! – and Elizabeth quickly shimmied up it and fell flat onto the deck. She crawled over to the stairs leading to the lower cabins and began to look around more freely now that she was safely out of sight.

There were plenty of hammocks and bunks, all of which looked very comfortable. There was a lavatory area with chamber pots and a larger room that most likely served as a common area of sorts.

She put her rucksack down in one of the hammocks and took a deep breath of the stale, musty air that smelled vaguely of salt and dead fish. This was to be her home for the foreseeable future. No more extravagant meals, no more breakfast in bed, no more silk gowns and slippers, no more horseback riding at sunset, no more cotillions and royal dinners and parties and-

A particularly strong wave knocked against the boat, making it sway, and knocking Elizabeth off her feet and causing her to strike her head on a low-hanging support beam.

* * *

The escape had been a success, and now Captain Jason Morgan (yes, he had been unanimously made Captain) and his men were safely in the English channel and on their way to the ocean.

They had escaped the palace after dusk and headed straight for the docks using underground passageways that Spinelli knew of. It was fairly easy to steal onto the boat, but the hard part was navigating down the river without being stopped. They sailed all through the night, each man too excited to sleep, and now with the sun climbing ever higher in the sky, they were starting to feel the effects of their harrowing escape.

"Jason, I have to get some sleep," Ritchie yawned, as he pushed himself away from the railing. He had been the one who had slipped off to do most of the repairs on the boat and had been awake longer than the others. "Have someone come get me if you need me."

Jason nodded and waved him off as he stood watch over Spinelli, who was poring over a collection of maps. "Go ahead, Ritchie. We'll be fine."

The next few minutes were spent discussing the best routes to take that would keep them safe from British war ships and pirate ships alike, and that was when they heard a great commotion downstairs and Ritchie came storming up with a squirming youth slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Put me down, you hideous ape of a man! I can walk on my own! Put me dooooown!"

"Jason?" Ritchie gripped the scraggly youth and dodged a kick in the ribs. "Euf."

The men had gathered and Jason trotted down the steps to see that the youth Ritchie had caught was actually a petite brunette with dark curls and luminous blue eyes, and she was rubbing her arm where Ritchie had grabbed her and glaring daggers up at him.

"Er…we have a stowaway."


	2. Her Midnight Secret

**Prompt – Fish gotta swim and birds gotta fly.**

**Note **– Thanks to **Miamejia **for the prompt, and for being a member here at Solo Ensemble! This is a continuation of the previous SEMMFF entitled _Aboard the HMS Morgan_.

**Her Midnight Secret**

A ship that housed roughly eight men that had not had sexual intercourse in more than two months was decidedly _not _the safest place for a young woman to be.

Especially when seven of those eight men were rip-roaring drunk.

And when four of those seven of those eight men had pinched her rear and made horribly suggestive comments that a young woman of her stature – er, former stature – should never, ever have to be subjected to.

"Ho, ho – stop."

Elizabeth let out a stunned "euf" when she crashed into something tall, hard and warm – something that could only be her Captain. "Jason?"

He grabbed her shoulders to steady her and Elizabeth did her best to ignore the warm shivers his contact sent down her arms. "Lizette, are you alright?"

She nodded and blinked furiously, trying not to let on that she was perilously close to tears. "Yes, Captain, I'm fine."

Small frown lines appeared around his mouth when his lips tightened into a thin line. "What happened?"

She gulped – or maybe that was a hiccup – and shook her head. "Nothing."

Jason let out a short breath through his nose, and his grip on her shoulders tightened slightly. Five months, two weeks, and three days ago, Lizette Webster had stowed away on their boat, _The Blackest Lion_. He had reluctantly accepted her as part of their crew that day, but only because they were already on the channel and risked capture and certain death if they turned back and returned to shore.

But he was soon very glad for the fact that they'd taken her on as one of their crew. The orphan girl with bright blue eyes and a spry gait was a big help on deck. She couldn't cook or clean a stitch, as they'd initially hoped when they found a girl in the bunks, but she was very good at cartography and Spinelli was more than happy to relinquish his former task to her.

She was the one that worked one-on-one with Jason to map out their routes and plan their stops. She was something of a history expert, too, and knew much about the different world cultures, almost as if she had visited those far-off lands herself. In addition to all this, she also spoke several different languages and proved to be of much use when they had to dock for supplies.

He'd become quite close to her, the little sprite in too-long men's breeches, and it was a simple fact that Jason hated to see her upset. Lizette was the only woman aboard and he felt it his special responsibility to see to her safety and well-being.

"I know it's not nothing," he murmured, tucking back a lock of hair that had escaped her low queue. "You are upset. Why?"

A few fat tears hung suspended from her lashes. "No matter, Jason."

She could be so stubborn sometimes, and it drove him mad. "You might as well tell me, because I always find out anyway."

That earned him a rueful smile, and Elizabeth averted her gaze and wrapped her arms around her mid-section. "…I don't belong here, Jason. Sometimes I wonder why you didn't toss me ashore the first time we docked."

He let out a heavy sigh. "And what brings this on?"

"I…"

"Allow me a guess – the other men."

"Well…"

"They've gotten into the rum again, haven't they?"

She bit her lip and looked away. "They might have."

Jason shook his head. "It's always the rum. Tell me – what did they do this time?"

Those luminous eyes, made brighter by the full moon, widened. "I-Oh, I'd rather not say."

His mouth curved downward. That could only mean that it was worse this time than it had been before. He had given his men a stern talking to, reminding them that Lizette was an orphan and had faced more than her fair share of hardship in her life, and that they should all treat her with care. The men had teased him the first time for having a tender for her, but the second time, when he really lost his temper, they got the message. Still, Jason knew he couldn't expect them to be perfect angels around her. They were, after all, only men and they succumbed to their baser needs especially when there was liquor in abundance.

"They don't mean to frighten you," he explained gently, forcing himself to stop playing with a loose curl as she gazed up at him. "If they knew half of what they must have said to you tonight to make you look so, I'm sure they'd hate themselves."

She sniffed delicately and nodded. "I-I know they don't mean to frighten me, but they do, sometimes. They're already so much larger and heavier than I am, and when they've imbibed I worry that they might…"

He grabbed her hand when the silence stretched on a bit longer than was comfortable, and steered her toward the stairs leading up to the wheel and the Captain's deck. "Come with me."

"Jason?"

"We'll teach you how to box," he smirked, pleased when her eyes lit up at the thought. "I don't know why I didn't teach you before. It's something a woman in your situation should know."

"But how can I box?" she sputtered when he bid her to stand still and moved slowly around her, correcting her stance, tapping the backs of her knees until she bent them, arranging her arms until they were locked in the correct position. "I'm small, Jason, I know I am. I haven't a chance of causing any real damage."

"No," he agreed, "you do not. But that's not what I propose to teach you."

Her dark brows furrowed, leaving her looking, in Jason's own humble opinion, adorably befuddled. "But I thought you said I was to learn to box."

"Yes, but a different kind of boxing," he explained, standing across from her and entering his stance. "Boxing befitting a woman."

"And what does that mean?"

"As you said, you are quite small." He tried to ignore the quick swipe of her pink tongue across her lips as Elizabeth began to concentrate on the impromptu lesson. "On your own, you lack the mass and the force required to exact powerful blows. However, what you lack in sheer mass and brute strength, you make up for in agility and speed. I've seen you, Lizette."

She fought back a shiver when his eyes performed a blatant perusal of her form. Jason had the strangest way of stripping her bare with his gaze, and she didn't know how she stood it.

"I've seen it in the way you move," he continued slowly, his voice dropping to a lower register. "I've seen it in the way you walk. Your movements are graceful, economic, and quick, and that's all you need if you ever find yourself in an unfortunate situation."

He refused to dwell on that a moment longer and instead held up his hands, palms facing her. "Hit me."

Her lips parted. "What?"

"Hit me," he repeated. "I want to see, just for my judgment, how hard you can hit if need be. Just hit me on the palm, your right hand to my right. Swing as hard as you can."

"But won't I hurt you?" Her expression became peeved when he smirked. "Oh, very well. But just remember that you asked."

Jason didn't even rock back the slightest when she swung and her knuckles smacked against his palm. "Now the other one. And the other. Keep it going, faster, now."

She swung diligently, first right, then left, until he signaled her to stop. "What now?"

"Your movements are quick and precise," he noted. "You hit the exact same spot on my palm each time, even when I asked you to go faster. You lacked the proper force behind it, but we can work on that. Now, what I propose to show you are a few techniques you should only use if you find yourself in a dangerous situation."

She nodded and looked at him curiously when Jason grimaced to himself. "Is something wrong?"

Jason shook it off. "It's nothing. Now, say that I am your attacker, and I approach you from the front, thus."

He took a great step toward her until they were half a pace apart. "And suppose that I intend to hurt you, to grab you, perhaps. What do you think your best recourse would be?"

Her eyes darted left, then right. "Er…scream?"

Jason had to smile at that. "Yes, you should always scream, you should always try to get the attention of someone that might come to your aid if I am not with you for whatever reason. But physically, Lizette, what should you do to your attacker? Do it to me, now."

"Oh, but you're not my attacker," she scoffed. "I couldn't possibly."

And for all her charm, this was how the damn fool little girl vexed him. "We have already established that I am your attacker, so with that in mind, tell me – what are you to do?"

She bit her lip and then, quick as a flash, pulled back her fist and struck his shoulder, this time actually causing him to rock back a step. "That?"

"A good attempt, but remember what we said about your lacking force?"

"But I made you lose your step," she protested. "Isn't that something?"

"A better course of action…" Jason trailed off and grimaced again. "The best course of action if being attacked from the front is to lift your knee between a man's legs."

"Oh." Her lips twitched ever so slightly. "So that was why you were wincing. It hurts just thinking about it?"

He was most certainly not going to have this conversation with her. "Just do what I say – no, not to me. Just pretend like you're going to do it."

"But I thought you said you were my attacker – should I _pretend _with my attacker, Jason?"

His lips thinned. "That is not funny."

Elizabeth grinned brightly and nodded. "Very well, you may continue. I'm sorry I made fun. Go on, please show me."

"Brat," he muttered under his breath, stepping just close enough so that if she had to, she could exact a blow to his groin. "When you find yourself in distance – even in distance of a good kick – always go for the area between a man's legs. Hit him there, disable him, and run. That's all you need to do."

"The blow will immobilize him? Truly?"

"Yes," he nodded. "If you do it hard enough, he won't be able to chase after you. So seize your moment and then bring your knee up with as much force as possible. And then run. Do you understand?"

She nodded. "But what if he's armed and I am not? I doubt I shall be able to do much good in that event."

Jason pulled out his shotgun and made absolutely sure that it wouldn't accidentally fire. "Let me show you what to do. Alright, I am your attacker and I am armed. See?"

She bit her lip and nodded. "Yes?"

"I am pointing my gun straight at your heart," he announced, forcing himself to lift the unloaded weapon to her bosom. "What are you to do? Take a guess."

"You're too far for me to lift my knee," she pointed out. "We are separated by a full arm's length."

"Right," he nodded encouragingly. "So you cannot lift your knee, and you stand to be shot in the heart. What is the smartest thing to do?"

"…Force you to point your gun elsewhere?"

He had always known she was a bright girl. "Exactly. Here, take my gun. Point it at me, and I'll show you what to do."

Elizabeth took the gun and aimed it just above his shoulder. "We'll say that this is your heart."

Smiling, he let her aim it off into the sky. "Very well. You are my attacker, and you are pointing the gun at my heart. What I do in this event is to wrap my hand around the barrel, push it to the side while moving to the opposite side so we no longer stand face to face, and kick out my leg just as we practiced before. You see? You may have the advantage even if you are unarmed. You try now. What do you do?"

She mimicked his movements perfectly, and Jason actually had to hop back when her leg struck out a little too close for comfort. "Like that?"

"Exactly like that," he smiled, safely returning his gun to its makeshift holster against his hip before they had occasion for any unfortunate incidents. "You learn quickly."

"What else are you going to teach me?" Elizabeth asked excitedly. "What else?"

"If a man is drunk, chances are good that you need only exact a blow – often to the head – that will render him unconscious."

Her eyes lit up, and Jason's belief that this little imp was trouble was once again affirmed. And in the next half hour, during which he proceeded to impart proper instruction in the techniques of boxing that would be most valuable to her, he could have sworn that she was genuinely trying to do him in. The thought would have been amusing if it wasn't so…no, it was rather amusing all by itself.

And then somehow the lesson turned toward her favorite sport: swordplay. The men could be heard having an uproarious good time downstairs, no doubt drinking, gambling, and telling lewd stories, but for Jason the real fun was to be had on the deck. Despite the fact that he was a relatively mild-mannered doctor with few enemies to boast of, he still had made sure to practice in the fine art of swordsmanship. And it seemed that someone had previously instructed Lizette as well, for the girl was really quite good.

But every time he had broached the subject in the past few months, she had quickly and adroitly changed it and never given him a clear reply. He had no choice but to assume that the person who had taught her to handle a sword so well was not in her life anymore, and that the parting was a painful one that she wished not to relive.

It was a very good thing that the men were all safely stowed away downstairs and weren't privy to this little swordfight. Whereas he prided himself on careful, measured, and precise movements whenever he picked up his sword, Lizette delighted in the spontaneous, outrageous, fanciful surprise attack. She chased him all about the deck, sword poised and at the ready, while he reverted to counting his paces and perfecting practiced stances. Though unevenly matched, their sparring was quite enjoyable, and Jason doubted that he had ever laughed so hard during a typical swordfight or sparring match than he did when Elizabeth accidentally plunged her sword into the mast and then had a devil of a time pulling it out again.

Such was the efficacy of her surprise attack, however, that he was still laughing at her plight when she pulled the sword out of the mast and, just like that, managed to not only knock his sword away but held her own poised at his jugular.

Her midnight blue eyes gleamed under the full moon as Jason grappled to maintain his grip on his sword. "Kneel."

His mouth twitched into an arrogant smirk as he once again caught his blade and readied it. "Not on your life."

And then, naturally, he being the better swordsman was able to disarm her threatening stance and force her to lower her arm so that he was no longer in any danger, however recreational it might have been.

"Remember, little girl," he chided, his gaze sweeping over her face as the exertion caused it to bloom with color, "I kneel for no one."

Her smile turned smug, and Jason was all of a sudden reminded that Lizette Webster was very much a woman, and very much in possession of something he could not even begin to fathom. A charisma, a strength, a smug knowingness that humbled his own experience.

"I shall have you kneeling before me before you even know it, Captain."


	3. Having Met Solace

**Prompt – I am all sins / And you are the reason for life. (Song Halo by Soil)**

**Note **– Thanks to **Jamie **for the prompt, and for being a member here at Solo Ensemble! This story is a continuation of the past two SEMMFFs.

**Having Met Solace**

He found her standing at the forecastle, looking out at the open water. She had just finished her dogwatch and now held the binnacle in her hands, idly shaking the case and the compass inside so that the needle pointed this way and that.

So lost was she in her thoughts that she didn't even notice him come up behind her, and looked over in surprise only when he rested his arms on the ledge.

"Checking our bearings?"

Elizabeth smiled down at the compass that she had manipulated with a good shake to point East instead of North. East toward England, North toward the open waters, West toward Jerusalem. "Something like that."

Jason shook his head when she offered him the binnacle. "Is something wrong?"

She shook her head so slowly that he would have mistaken it for the sway of her head with the ocean. "Nothing is wrong."

During the pause, Elizabeth happened to glance over at him and found her Captain smirking at her. "What is it?"

Jason indulged in a rare boyish grin and looked out over the ocean. "I've learned a few things these past months in your company, Lizette. Namely, when a woman says nothing is wrong, that means everything is wrong. And when a woman says everything is wrong, that means _everything _is wrong."

She had to laugh at that, not noticing the way his gaze swept over her face. "You sound like Damien."

He actually grimaced. "God forbid."

Her smile was gentle and indulgent. "Honestly, Jason, nothing is wrong. I was just…thinking."

"About what?"

She stared out at the open ocean a good while before she suddenly turned and faced him, a quiet urgency in her eyes. "Have you ever been out sailing like this before, Jason?"

He shook his head slowly. "You know of my past, Lizette. I never strayed far from my clinic."

"Do you ever wish to go back?"

Jason considered it carefully, beginning to understand what this was about. Still, he couldn't lie to the girl; she had the uncanny ability of always knowing when he was bending the truth. "No. I love England; it has been the only home I've ever known. And I loved King Richard and the way he chose to rule. But I do not regret leaving, especially considering the circumstances that forced my departure. This is the most I have ever lived in all my years since I became a practitioner. To be entirely honest, I couldn't imagine returning to my quiet life in my small clinic."

She smiled, but still looked sad to him. "Being a pirate suits you, then."

He weighed his words carefully but said them anyway in the end. "And you feel it does not suit you?"

Elizabeth gave the binnacle a fierce shake, causing the needle to spin awry. A most miserable compass, indeed. "I…I truly do not know."

They stood in silence for a long moment, looking out over the sunset. Jason recognized this as a time not to speak; it seemed his young friend was having enough trouble sorting out the mess in her head without him adding his own voice to it. But if there was one thing he could always count on, it was the fact that Lizette always sought him out when she felt uneasy or troubled, and this time was no different.

"I am immensely grateful that you allowed me this opportunity," she finally spoke, her voice slow and honest as she turned liquid eyes up to his. "That you allowed me to join your band of men and leave England behind. It was what I needed to do…but for different reasons than you."

He nodded jerkily, trying not to let on just how much he wanted to know about her past and her reasons for leaving it behind. The girl knew just about everything there was to know about him – granted, he was an uncomplicated man, so there wasn't much to know – and he knew precious little about her, and the disparity was at times troubling.

"But there are times when I wonder what running away accomplished. It saved your life, to be sure," she added hastily, "and I do not mean to trivialize that in the least. But the fact remains…I am still the person I was when I remained in England. I thought leaving would change that, that I could shed it and leave it behind like my parrot used to molt its feathers and grow a new set, but the past eight months have taught me that such a thing may not be possible."

He watched her with unabashed interest, not particularly caring that he was staring at her for far longer than was appropriate. The rules on land did not apply on the ocean, much less on his ship when Lizette was standing so close to him, looking so lost and small in front of the endless ocean.

"It's very difficult to forget who you are."

She frowned at him. "But you just said that you couldn't even imagine returning to your old life as a doctor."

"But I am still the man I was then," he pointed out softly. "I may not choose to define myself and my habits by my former profession anymore, but I was the same man then that I am now."

Her mouth twitched. "A swash-buckling pirate?"

Jason had to grin at that. "Maybe not quite. But I was dissatisfied with King Lucas and his control of England even while I worked in my small clinic. I knew there had to be a change, but I had grown complacent. The incident with the Black Lions was what forced me to shed my old habits, my old profession, and my complacency. But I am still the same man."

He tilted his head to the side and regarded her carefully. "Don't you feel you're still the same woman?"

A sad smile made her lips curve. "I cannot even begin to answer that…because I'm not sure I knew who I was before."

"How do you mean?"

"You said your profession and your habits defined you before." Her shoulder moved in an absent shrug. "I was the same way. And I thought that by leaving I would be able to leave it behind and start anew, but I'm having trouble doing that. Because I cannot stop thinking about my old life, my old responsibilities and duties to those around me, and I'm beginning to think that…"

It was a mistake.

She knew this to be true but couldn't bring herself to say those words.

She was the last surviving member of Richard Webber's family. And she didn't count her conniving Uncle Lucas as family – everyone knew he was a bastard but no one ever said it, and it was unthinkable that the royal thrown should go to an illegitimate. Still, that didn't stop him from seizing power as soon as her father was en route to Jerusalem and engaged in battle to regain the Holy Land. The bounder was the one that had urged him to go most strongly, after all.

Her mother had passed on during childbirth, and Richard had loved his wife Carolyn so tremendously that he couldn't bear the thought of remarrying, even if only to produce a royal heir. And so, when she was but five years old, her father was holding secret meetings with his cabinet of royal officials and the church elders and had succeeded in having new laws passed that would allow Elizabeth Webber, only daughter of Richard the Lion-Heart, to be made Queen of England in the event of his passing and her coming of age.

Lucas had stolen that created birthright, and what had been her response? To run. It was cowardly and rash and irresponsible, and she hated herself more and more for it every day these past eight months.

She knew Jason cared for her. He was a good man, even though she hadn't initially thought so back when she had saved his and Gianni's life and he'd barely grunted in response and certainly shown no courtly respect. He always took good care of her, too, and made sure the other men treated her with kindness and regard. He protected her the best he could, and he always made himself available if she needed to talk to him.

And that was why it would have been wrong to tell him that it was all a mistake. She didn't regret meeting Jason Morgan. She didn't regret stowing away on his ship and joining his crew. She didn't regret being his friend, and she didn't even regret falling half in love with him.

She didn't think it was all that possible to fall 'half in love' with someone, but she really had no other way to describe how she felt about him. Jason Morgan was a prince. Not literally, though, and that was the problem. He was the kindest, gentlest, noblest man she'd met – and as a Princess, she'd met quite a few of that breed – and any woman would have to have been touched in the head not to fall for him.

But the one thing that kept her from ever letting her true feelings for him shine through was the fact that she was still, whether she liked it or not, whether she ignored it or not, a Princess. And he was just a man. A former slave, really. It had become painfully clear to her that she couldn't live out this anonymous life forever. Sooner or later, someone would recognize her face from a portrait or etching and the lie would be over. And if she led Jason on only to have the truth come out, he would never forgive her and she would never forgive herself.

That was the only thing that kept her from telling him exactly how she felt.

And it had become apparent to her, moreover, that it would always be "the thing" that kept her from doing anything with this new life she'd try to create for herself. Because she was by her blood and by her name and by her memory still a Princess, and with her mother dead and her father most likely killed in battle, it was up to her to return to the palace and claim the legacy her father had created especially for her.

She just had no idea how she would do it.

"No matter," she murmured, making sure to give him a bright smile. The man had been staring at her all this time, and really, it was quite unnerving. "It's this sunset that's making me talk so. I am sure I'll feel better once we dock and are able to have some _real _food. How far to the next port?"

Jason turned around so he could see the view behind them. "Not far now – there it is. We'll be docked by dusk. Speaking of which, I'd better get Ritchie and Francis up on deck."

He started to move away, then gave her one last concerned look. "If there is anything I can do for you…"

Her smile was slow but bright, beaming forth as she realized, not for the first time, the depth of his concern for her. "I will be just fine, Jason, one way or another."

He nodded uncertainly, as if not quite knowing what to make of that, and pushed himself away, leaving her looking out over the waters that turned all different shades of pink, purple, and green from the setting sun.

One way or another, she'd figure out what to do.


	4. Hearing Many Stories

**Prompt – I may be a real bad boy, but baby, I'm a real good man.**

**Note **– Thanks to **Blue **for the prompt, and for being a member here at Solo Ensemble! Italicized dialogue denotes that French is being spoken.

**Hearing Many Stories**

For a Princess, she sure could put away the brandy.

Elizabeth held out her glass, patiently waiting for Jason to refill it, and lifted it to her lips once he had. It was piteously watered down, and she had no doubt that her Captain had slipped the tavern owner a few gold coins to dilute the liquor. He probably thought that as a woman, she wouldn't know the difference.

"So this is Tobago."

Jason dipped his head. "We were here once before about six months ago, but you were sleeping so soundly in your bunk that I hadn't wanted to wake you. We simply loaded our supplies and, er, got what we needed and were back on the _Blackest Lion_ by sunrise."

Elizabeth smirked. "Got what you needed?"

He pointedly looked away. "More brandy?"

"I'm not quite finished with this glass."

His eyes focused on her half-full glass, and Jason didn't see her teasing grin. "Ah. So you are not."

She laughed lightly, thoroughly enjoying his rare flustered state, and played with her drink. "Where are the others?"

The corner of Jason's mouth twitched. "They're off getting what they need."

Elizabeth snorted while taking a small sip, and wound up coughing until Jason gently smacked her back one, twice, again. "I'm fine, thank you. Even Damien?"

Jason glanced across the room where Spinelli was talking to a pretty girl with honey colored hair and big green eyes much like his own. "Even Spinelli."

She couldn't quite keep her teasing smile in check. "And what about you?"

He looked almost offended. "What _about _me?"

"Don't you need a few things as well?" Elizabeth asked innocently, eying him over the rim of her glass. "Go on, don't let me keep you."

Jason's eyes narrowed as he snatched a bottle of rum from the tavern owner. "All I need, as you put it, is this bottle of rum and a little silence from you."

"Very well, Jason," she laughed back, "but do feel free to sneak off once I'm no longer looking."

He scowled and turned away to get a clean glass, muttering to himself. "Ridiculous. Damn fool little chit."

As if he needed her permission if he wanted to sport off! A little chit that barely came up to his chin. She knew full well that it was his policy never to leave her side when they docked; it wasn't safe for a young woman to be surrounded by pirates and highway men and prostitutes. She could have been robbed or hurt or worse.

He never left her side when they were on land because he'd never forgive himself if something happened to her. Sure, he'd shown her how to box and fight and handle a gun, but never once thought that she'd have to do so all on her own. He believed it was fine – admirable, even – if a woman wanted to learn how to do such things for her own peace and safety of mind, but he always knew he'd be there with her so she wouldn't have to.

Imagine that, him sneaking off for an illicit tumble in a stable loft with some nameless woman and leaving her to fend for herself! Damn stupid woman!

And he had half a mind to tell her that to her face. Jason snarled again and sloshed some rum into his glass. He turned on his stool, ready to give the infuriating chit a piece of his mind, then stopped and looked around.

"Lizette?"

She was gone.

* * *

Poor Jason. He really ought to have himself some fun every once in a while.

At least, that was what Elizabeth thought as she slipped through the crowds toward the back end of the tavern. There were men and women carousing in all the nooks and crannies, young men gambling at the tables, and women dancing and pouring drinks all around. Surely Jason could find something – or someone – with which to occupy himself.

It was an unpleasant thought to her personally, but she wasn't a green girl like she had been during her tenure as Princess. She knew that men had certain needs and she'd even seen some satisfying theirs, unfortunately. Desire was a powerful emotion and she could hardly expect Jason to forgo his. He didn't know that she cared for him, and it wasn't even as if he desired her. They had never done anything of the sort and she knew they never would, so it made no sense for her to resent his finding pleasure with other women.

Besides, she saw how the others were always so much happier after they had docked and spent time on land cavorting around, and there was no reason Jason shouldn't enjoy the same alleviation of tension and stress.

Besides, this was her time to steal away by herself as well. Seeing as how she was the only woman aboard, the other men tried their best to give her some privacy, but the fact remained that there weren't very many places she could be alone on a ship like theirs. There was always work to be done, for one thing, and besides, her sleeping quarters were shared by five other men. She was just lucky that they'd put up curtains in one corner of the large room below deck to allow her a little nook of her own.

She always tried to get away and explore on her own when they docked. Jason made that difficult, always insisting on remaining with her, so they usually went exploring together. But tonight, she wanted to go off privately and be alone with her thoughts in this strange land.

Tobago and England were as different as day and night. She and Jason had been discussing just that when they first docked and found this tavern. And even though he never said it, she knew that as much as her Captain enjoyed these foreign sojourns, he'd return to England in a heartbeat if he could be certain that he wouldn't be dragged away in chains at once upon doing so.

The natives spoke a very strange language, full with clicks and guttural noises, but she loved hearing it. Their music was loud and pulsing, far from the delicate minuets and waltzes she had been used to back home. And their manner of dressing, of course, was much different, as the men and women here favored loose trousers and flowing tunics and dresses in bright colors, often embellished with gold threads and beads.

The thing about Tobago – and she had studied this before from her textbooks – was that it was a major international port city, renowned for its silks, spices, and tobacco, which the natives smoked in bongs with various fruits and herbs. The tavern that she was in currently housed not only the natives and her party of Englishmen, but also a group of Italians, a few Dutch sailors, what appeared to be Germanic mercenaries, and a fairly large group of French pirates.

The French had never scared her in all her travels with Jason and his men. It helped that she knew their language and with her pale skin and dark hair, she was sometimes even mistaken as being one of them. There was a group of them gathered in the back corner of the bar, and they simultaneously smoked, drank, gambled and jeered as only the French could.

She neared her historic enemies without trepidation, prowling along the edges of the group and peeking over their shoulders to get a look at the game being played. It was something interesting involving shiny glass beads and larger, flatter discs, and she hoped to linger long enough to learn the general gist of it. She did so love gambling games.

_"Four! You can play me or owe me two hundred notes, old man."_

_"I'll play this round – and you'll see, I'll win. I've been winning at this game since before you were a gleam in your father's eyes, boy."_

The group erupted in laughter and Elizabeth made sure to smirk, just to show she understood the language. One of the men noticed her and smirked back, then tipped his head at her, beckoning her to an open space at his side. She obliged the offer and stood next to him, watching the players.  
_  
"Who's up for the next round?"_

_"Think about this round first – and watch your piece before I steal it out from under you."_

_"Say, Jean, is that not Marcella over there?"_

One of the men playing, a handsome young sailor with dark hair and darker eyes, looked up and just past where Elizabeth stood. _"Where?"_

_"Over there, with that Italian."_

One of the others smirked at the woman, who was sitting on Gianni's lap. _"Those Italians – they've only ever got one thing on their mind."_

The man named Jean shrugged and returned to the game. _"It doesn't matter, I broke things off with her the last time we docked in Tobago. Let her snare the Italian, it doesn't matter."_  
_  
"I think he's with those Englishmen over there,"_ another man said, jutting his chin toward her fellow sailors._ "The ones aboard the Black Lion. Dumbest name for a ship I ever heard."_

_"It's for Richard the Lion-Heart,"_ Jean replied, sounding bored. _"Ah, the English, an exercise in ineffectiveness."_

Elizabeth knew better than to bristle at that.

_"Isn't Lucas the Milky-Liv'r'd ruling now?"_ an older man chuckled. _"That was what I heard the last time we docked at Tortuga. Heard that he stole the throne from Richard's little chit. Rightfully so – who ever heard of a girl taking the throne? The Lion was a damn fool. Did his country a favor by dying."_

She was only lucky that the dim candlelight in the tavern prevented the men from noticing how she turned deathly pale, and it was all Elizabeth could do to keep her eyes from flashing as she listened to them malign her father.

_"Didn't you hear?" _Jean arched a brow at his fellow countryman. _"Richard isn't dead."_

The men all stopped and stared at him, as did Elizabeth, who was absolutely certain that she had heard wrong. Her father _was _dead. He had died in battle in Jerusalem with his men, trying to regain the Holy Land from Saladin and his heathen forces.

_"What?"_ Apparently the others were having as difficult a time absorbing this as she was. _"Jean, you're drunk. That's lunacy. Everyone knows that Richard of England is dead. He died on the battlefield."_

But the man known as Jean just shook his head. _"Not so. Richard the Lion-Heart is very much alive and a prisoner of the French state."_


	5. The Harbinger of Mixed Signals

**Prompt – Passion rules us all.**

**Note **– Thanks to **Priscilla **for the prompt, and for being a member of Solo Ensemble and the K9P2PJ! Italicized dialogue denotes that French is being spoken.

**The Harbinger of Mixed Signals**

_"Richard the Lion-Heart is very much alive and a prisoner of the French state."_

She could have sworn that her blood stopped in her veins.

_Richard the Lion-Heart is very much alive and a prisoner of the French state._

It couldn't be. It simply couldn't be. She had accepted her father's death when she got the news more than two years ago. She had donned her mourning clothes and remained in them until her last days at the palace, much to her uncle's chagrin.

No, Richard the Lion-Heart was _dead_. Fate couldn't be so cruel as to implant the seed of hope in her heart once more only to tear it out again when she realized that what the Frenchman had said was only a cruel joke.

_"How do you know this, Jean?"_

He lit up a fresh cigar and had the nerve to look bored. _"I used to work in an official post under the Emperor a year ago – had you forgotten? I was privy to many secrets of state, including the fact that Richard the Lion-Hearted was captured off the battlefield and held in captivity."_

_"But why? What use had the Emperor for Richard of England? And almost three years later?"_

_"The Emperor urged Lucas to take power,"_ Jean explained. _"He offered his military support should Lucas face difficulty. Why do you suppose that the recent treaties between England and France have been so obviously skewed in our favor? Lucas accepts personal bribes and gives up a few of the territories his brother captured. Meanwhile, our Emperor is simply waiting for conditions in England to become so bad that when he makes news of Richard public, the people will force Lucas to pay whatever ransom he demands for the Good King's return, thereby bankrupting all of England. It's very simple._"

One of the Frenchmen actually laughed. _"And where has our Emperor hidden Richard all this time?"_

Jean smirked and tossed one of his pieces up in the air, catching it easily. _"Where else? The island Elba."_

Nothing in her life had ever been more difficult for her than it was for Elizabeth to keep her feet rooted to where she stood. If she left now, she feared that it might look suspicious. She had to stand and listen to this and pretend that it didn't make her stomach churn and it didn't make her mind race and it didn't make her feel faint. And presently, when the conversation had turned back to the game and to women, she was able to quietly withdraw without any of them being the wiser.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and Elizabeth didn't even hear Ritchie call out to her as he held up a bottle of rum. She didn't hear Spinelli snap his fingers at her, inviting her into his game of cards, and she didn't hear Francis tell her that Jason had been looking for her and was furious with her for disappearing.

The room was spinning and her entire body felt hot all over, and Elizabeth barely managed to find the door. She stumbled into the back alleyway, sucking in the cold night air like she'd never taken a breath before. It cleared her head, made her mind sharper, and she didn't see anything as she stared into the darkness, confounded by this new revelation.

Her father was alive.

He was being held prisoner by the damned French, but _he was alive_.

She clamped a hand fiercely over her mouth to muffle a choking sob, and sank back against the tavern wall, unable to bear her own weight any longer. She wasn't an orphan, and England wasn't lost. She still had her father, and that meant there was still hope of restoring their family line.

But what to do, what to do?

She was in Tobago, thousands upon thousands of miles from her homeland and also from her father. She wasn't any good to anyone while she was here. The best thing to do would be to return. Yes, to return to the palace.

Her mind raced as she pushed herself away from the wall and headed blindly down the alley, already knowing that she had to return to the harbor and find a ship heading north. South was Tobago, West was the ocean, East was Jerusalem, and North was England. Home.

Once there, she would have to find a way to subvert her uncle. Her options were plentiful: she could convince him to make one poor decision after another to illustrate his ineptitude to everyone else; she could spy on him and expose his dealings with the French; she could spread word of her father's capture to the right people and have a volunteer army march on France with or without the King's approval; or any other such measure.

She could figure all that out in good time: the one thing that mattered now was to hasten home. She had run from her life for long enough, and she couldn't call herself her father's daughter if she gave up in the face of this news. It simply wasn't an option.

"Lizette!"

She didn't even hear him the first time and in truth, she wouldn't have stopped even if she had for the name Lizette that she had adopted sounded foreign to her now as her mind reverted back to _Princess Elizabeth of England, born to the house of Webber, daughter of Richard the Lion-Heart._

"LIZETTE!"

She whirled around so fast that she almost tripped over her own boots, but thankfully, Jason caught her as he always did. "Oh, Jason!"

"What in God's name are you doing out here?" he fumed, his hands skimming her waist as he righted her. "And what do you mean, running away from me like that? Have you any idea what could have happened?"

She was in no state to even comprehend his anger, much less indulge it. "Where did you come from? Were you following me?"

"So what if I was following you?" he snapped. "You _need _someone following you! By God, I've half a mind to tie you to the mast on the _Blackest Lion_ right now to keep you from running about."

Elizabeth waved away his threats, causing him no small amount of disconcertion. "Jason, I don't have time for this. I have to leave – tonight."

He stared at her, and it was clear that her flustered answer had been the last thing he was expecting. "Leave? Tonight? Where?"

"I have to go," she replied simply, throwing her arms out helplessly. "I must leave. I-I must find a ship; I set sail tonight."

"Where?" he persisted. "Lizette, what is this about? Are you in trouble?"

"No," she answered, unable to stop the light, almost mad laughter that bubbled up inside of her. "No, no, I'm not in trouble. Not yet. But I must leave, Jason. I can't set sail on the _Blackest Lion_ anymore. I must return to England."

His brows shot up. "England? What for? Lizette, what's happened?"

"I can't explain," she replied, her eyes pleading with him not to ask any more questions she couldn't answer. "I-I can't explain any of it. I don't know myself. But I have to leave Tobago tonight."

"We'll set sail, then," Jason got out, grabbing her by the shoulders when she made to turn away. "Lizette, stop this, we can fix whatever has happened. If you need to leave Tobago tonight, we can."

"No, we can't," she pointed out logically. "Your men are all ashore and too drunk to be of any use to you right now in loading up the ship and pulling out of the harbor. And besides, none of you may return to England upon penalty of certain death. And I can't allow you to risk your life for me."

His cerulean eyes flashed, and his grip on her arms tightened. "And what of your life? Are you bent on trifling with it so?"

She gently extracted herself from his hold and gave him an almost sad smile. "As you say, Jason, it is _my _life. Mine to ruin, mine to redeem, mine to do with as I wish to or need to. And tonight, I need to set sail for England. I cannot allow you stop me."

"Why tonight?" His eyes were growing wild, and his speech quick and almost flustered, and if she didn't know any better she could have sworn that her normally unflappable Captain was desperate. "Why must it be tonight?"

"Because I've learned something of grave importance that necessitates my immediate return home," she replied simply, watching when he snapped his mouth shut. It was the first time she'd spoken with such solemnity and urgency, and she could tell Jason didn't know what to make of it.

"But what is this about?"

Elizabeth closed her eyes and shook her head. "You may call it a family matter, if you need to know."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You said you had no family."

She looked up at him openly, honestly, and licked her lips. "I both said and thought a lot of things that I no longer believe to be true. I must leave tonight, Jason. I've wasted enough time already."

He grabbed her hand and linked her fingers with his before she could take another step back. "And that's to be it?"

Elizabeth swallowed past the lump that had surprisingly formed in her throat. "There is one thing I need from you."

Jason's eyes lit up at the prospect of one last thing he could do to her, and the sight of it made Elizabeth want to weep. "Name it."

"I need you to set sail for Tortuga." She sucked in a deep breath and nodded firmly. "Tomorrow, or the day after, when you have your supplies and the others have gotten what they needed…"

He didn't smile at their little joke.

"…I need you to change your bearings and set sail for Tortuga. Head to the Western port instead of the Eastern one, and once ashore go straight to the Blue Dragon."

Jason's brows furrowed. "The tavern?"

She nodded. "Yes. I found it the last time we were docked there, while you and the others were loading up the boat. The Blue Dragon is connected to the living quarters of a fairly large group of men – exiles from England, all of them. Some are political prisoners that only barely escaped with their lives under King Lucas, and others left on their own because of his taxation and his corrupt officers. The Blue Dragon is where they still gather today."

He was silent as she spoke, and she knew he was wondering just what the Devil this had to do with anything.

"I need you to find these men, Jason," Elizabeth told him firmly. "I need you to get to them, if you are a true Englishman and a supporter of King Richard."

His features hardened, and she could almost see the mask descend. "Richard is dead. My support of him matters to no one but myself."

She met his gaze without flinching, her eyes just as hard and stormy. "If you are a supporter of King Richard the Lion-Heart, you will find these men. And you will rally them together and set sail for the Island Elba."

Jason shook his head; she wasn't making any sense. "And what do we seek on the Island Elba?"

"Not what, who." Her hands were curled into fists now, and the intensity of the moment and raw surge of adrenaline made her tremble visibly. "King Richard is being held prisoner on Elba, and if the Black Lions work with the Blue Dragons, there is at least some hope that he can be freed."

Jason had gone pale, just as she had earlier. "No – Richard is _dead_. We all heard the proclamation. He was killed in Jerusalem and-"

She shook her head and pressed a finger to his lips. "Richard is _alive_. And if you support him and if you wish to ever call England your home again, you will set sail for Elba with the rising sun."

He nodded, squeezing her hand fiercely when she tried to pull it from his. "And you?"

"I return to England," she got out on a whisper. "I only hope that one day, you will be able to as well."

And then she did something he never thought he'd be lucky enough to see and grasped the lapels of his coat, hauled him down to her level, and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was bold and forceful coming from her, but still sweet in her general inexperience. Once he got over the shock of it, Jason gently place his hands on her waist, then on her back, and then pulled her flush against him once he knew she was comfortable with the contact.

She rose on her toes to meet him this time, and Jason angled his mouth over hers. By some miracle of self-control, he was able to restrain himself from parting her lips with his tongue and stealing a taste, and he kept reminding himself that if she was the one that had initiated this, the least he could do was not scare her by mauling her.

Her lips were swollen when she pulled away, and her eyes remained closed. Jason gazed down at her, their noses almost touching, and kept his arms around her waist. "When will I see you again?"

She shook her head so slightly that the movement would have been imperceptible had their foreheads not been touching. "I do not believe we'll meet again. I don't see how we could."

Jason's grip on her waist tightened, and Elizabeth let out a little moan when he kissed her temple and then lowered his face into her neck, inhaling her scent. She clung to him fiercely, and felt the first tears burn at the backs of her eyes.

"I'm so sorry," she choked, fisting one of her hands in his long hair. "Jason, I'm so sorry."

He murmured something against her neck, in her hair, along her cheek, and then his lips moved over hers again. "What are you apologizing for?"

She tasted his words, gulped them down as if for sustenance, and curled into him. "I fear you may find out if you return to England. Jason, I'm so sorry."

Her Captain grasped her chin in his hand and tilted her face back, this time slanting his mouth over hers and parting her lips effortlessly. His tongue swept into her mouth, boldly flicking at hers and then stroking it, and she drank him in.

If this was to be her last memory of a time when Doctor-Turned-Captain Jason Morgan didn't hate her for her deception, she would make it a good one.

His enchanting eyes were alight and stormy at the same time when she finally pulled away. Unable to bear it for a second longer, Elizabeth pulled herself out of his hold and whirled around on her heel, almost tripping on her boots once more. He had left her disoriented and emotional, the damn man, and she couldn't have that at a time like this.

"Goodbye, Jason."

It was the last thing he heard from her as Jason Morgan watched Lizette Webster hurry down the street toward the waterfront just ahead, before she disappeared completely into the night.


	6. In His Majesty's Service

**Prompt – Time and time again, life changes you.**

**Note **– Thanks to **daniszalla **for the prompt, and for being a member here at Solo Ensemble!

**In His Majesty's Service**

There had been an ocean storm at their heels for the past five days, and it was already upon them by the time the _Blackest Lion_ docked at the Island of Elba. They had to do so on the beach, right under the cliffs, because it was the safest spot and they stood little chance of being spotted even from the turrets of Elba Castle.

The Blue Dragons followed on their own, in a separate ship they had commissioned specifically for the rescue mission. They had initially flown the same sails as their counterparts, black sails emblazoned with a white lion, and far outnumbered Jason and his men.

Ritchie, Gianni, Spinelli, and the others were plenty confused when Jason returned to the tavern that fateful night that Lizette left and stomped off to a room of his own with two bottles of rum and clearly no intention of sharing. They didn't see him for three days after that and when their Captain finally resurfaced, he looked considerably changed. He had shaved the dark stubble that always shadowed his face, he had shed his handsomely tailored overcoat and wore only his black breeches and a white linen shirt, and he had gathered up his long hair, normally free and loose at his shoulders, into a low queue tied with a thin leather strip.

When they gathered together on the _Blackest Lion_, Jason revealed the purchases he had made on shore. New pistols, two for every last man among them, and daggers and swords aplenty. And in a move that surprised them considerably, Jason had also obtained – through purchase or otherwise – two sets of distinctively French sails, the emblems of their enemies.

It was only when the boat had been loaded with their supplies – extra gunpowder, which had surprised them since they usually only stocked enough for their pirating exploits on the way to the next port city – that the men learned that Lizette Webster would not be joining them. Jason was extremely tight-lipped about it and actually snarled – snarled! – at Spinelli when the young man dared to inquire more personally about his friend.

He had been an absolute terror to live with since she left, too. He was more withdrawn, more sullen, more given to bursts of anger. While he had never been an affable man, there was something about Lizette that they had seen to put him in a good humor, and even that was gone now. Now, Captain Morgan was single-minded in his quest to sail for Tortuga to rally the Blue Dragons, and then to sail for Elba.

Tortuga had been a strange mess. The men had been ordered to sail all the way around to the Western port despite the fact that all ships docked at the Eastern port. And once their moorings were secure, they had all been ordered to remain on the ship except for Spinelli, who accompanied their Captain ashore.

When Jason and Spinelli returned, the boy was also tight-lipped about what had transpired there, and finally snapped – snapped! – at the others to leave him alone and that he had made a solemn oath not to breathe a word of it until Jason allowed it. Apparently, their Captain's surliness and reticence had rubbed off on the most talkative member of their crew, as well.

They had then sailed around to the Eastern port of Tortuga to reload supplies. This time, more guns were purchased, additional gunpowder was added to their vast stores, and Jason made sure that the _Blackest Lion _and the _Blue Dragon_ were checked for any possible repairs that might be needed.

And it was after he and Spinelli made ready to hoist the new French sails that Jason explained to his men what was happening. The Good King Richard was being held as a political prisoner on the Island Elba, and they were joining forces with the Blue Dragon men – some of whom Ritchie and Francis recognized as having been former members of the Black Lions – to free him. The two ships would fly French sails and dock at the island, and then they would infiltrate the castle and find England's true king.

But when Gianni had hesitantly raised his hand and asked how Lizette fit into all of this, Jason became as tight-lipped as before. And while the men assumed that it was because he didn't want to tell them, the truth was that Jason didn't know. She hadn't given him much information – in fact, almost none – before she ran off to find the next ship sailing for England, and he couldn't imagine how a girl like this fit into this international espionage mess.

Jason was the first man off the _Blackest Lion_, and he waded to shore while Ritchie and Francis finished securing the boat. His men followed, as did the Blue Dragon crew, and they all crept up the shore toward the dark, forbidding castle.

Their mission was clear and, if they succeeded, they might return home to England at last as free men.

* * *

The guards had been incapacitated and were now lying in a pile in one of the closed chambers, their throats slit. Even that fate was too good for those French dogs.

"Which way, now?"

Gianni licked his lips and peered down two corridors as the Black Lions and Blue Dragons alike awaited his orders. "According to our information, His Majesty's window faces east, which is…that way."

"He's sure to have guards around his room," Jason pointed out as they withdrew to a quiet, shaded corner of the massive hall. Blessed embellished French architecture, it provided them safe cover should any more guards be wandering through the corridors. "Our best matter of course is to access the many tunnels that run through the castle."

Spinelli blinked. "How do you know there are tunnels through here?"

In a matter of utmost irony, Elba Castle had always been one of Lizette's favorite antiquated buildings, and in her private room she kept a sketchpad in which she had sketched various views of the castle that she had drawn freehand from a book. She prattled on end about the Castle, as well as a certain House of Wisdom in old Baghdad, her second favorite building, in addition to the Taj Mahal in far-off India, the floor plan of which was modeled after a blooming rose, and he had often been her audience. Not that he was about to admit that, of course.

"I learned it from the French at Tobago," he replied gruffly. That much was a secondary truth, at any rate: he had grilled a few drunken French sailors about one of their most famed landmarks and learned quite a lot more. "The tunnels run East and West, so we ought turn 'round and go the opposite way, away from his room, and find one of the entrances. If we get too close to his chambers and look for the entrance there, we have a better chance of being caught."

Gianni nodded, understanding now. "I remember hearing that the entrances to the tunnels at Elba Castle are often triggered by loose bricks in the fireplace. I believe Lizette mentioned it at one point. Either she was talking about this Castle or about the Taj Mahal, and I doubt that old shanty has secret tunnels."

Jason's men all succeeded in hiding their smirks; at least one man in their company was able to admit the source of the information.

"We should separate," Jason announced, looking at the Captain of the _Blue Dragon_, who was nodding his head. "There are too many of us to fit through the tunnels, anyway. You men come with me, you men advance closer to his room in case we run into trouble with the guards, and you men go ready the ships for our escape. Move!"

He turned his back on the chorus of "Yes, Sir," he received and didn't even look to see if Gianni, Spinelli, Ritchie, and Francis were following him. Gianni got them safely to what appeared to be private bedchambers, and Jason knelt on the floor and began searching for loose bricks in the cold fireplace.

He couldn't feel them through his gloves and Spinelli, clearly thinking that his Captain was taking too much time, gently pushed Jason back, stripped off his gloves, and began to search himself. After about a minute and a few hacking coughs, the boy pulled back, his face smudged with a light layer of loose soot, and produced the loose brick that caused the entire back wall of the fireplace to give way and open into a tunnel large enough for two men to pass abreast.

Jason licked his lips and laid a hand on his sword, safely slung at his hip. "Let us go."

* * *

Richard Webber had given up hope.

It felt blasphemous, but he found that he simply could not go on holding out hope, not when his situation was so dire. His famed lion-heart failed him; the affectionate epithet now embarrassed him. He heard the news of what was going on in the world; his guards talked amongst themselves without knowing that he spoke their ridiculous language and could understand what they said of his kingdom.

Luke was in power now, but that was no surprise. Luke had been power-hungry since birth, and Richard had always known that his brother resented him his birthright. His closest friends had always told him to eliminate the nuisance before it became a major problem, but Richard couldn't imagine imprisoning his younger brother for life, much less killing him. So he held out hope then, foolishly, thinking that his brother would come around.

He wasn't that foolish anymore. He recognized his situation. He was being held prisoner in an isolated castle on a forbidding island. The only other inhabitants were armed French guards that worked directly with the French Emperor to keep him exactly where he was. He survived on bread and water daily, and was lucky enough to get a tough, gamy slab of meat once a week. His brother was a corrupt king, his country was on the verge of being bankrupt, his carefully maintained political system was on the brink of falling apart, and his beloved daughter was missing and feared dead.

There was nothing left in his life anymore.

If he only had a way of knowing, with any level of certainty, that his little Elizabeth was all right, he wouldn't have felt foolish holding on to his last semblance of hope. As long as Elizabeth was still of this world, he could go on. But the news he'd heard was not promising; a French spy had kidnapped his girl from her bedchambers and stole off with her over the palace walls.

Luke's search attempts had been laughable at best, and, realizing that he would get no ransom for the Princess that had been in line to accept the monarchy, the Emperor's spy had slit her throat and tossed her into the English Channel. There were rumors from some of the sailors at the ports – Tortuga, Havana, Maracaibo, Casablanca – that every so often, a young woman dressed in breeches with carefully tied up hair and the Princess's rumored luminous blue eyes appeared on the waterfront, watching the ships sail by on the ocean, lamenting the loss of her freedom and her life and her birthright. And wherever she appeared, so appeared the infamous Pirate Captain Jason Morgan of the _Blackest Lion_, the last known ship to fly its sails in support of King Richard III of England.

Those were the last men that supported him in this world. According to the reports, both Luke and the French were after Pirate Morgan's men, not interested in capturing him but killing him for daring to carry on the dead King's name. But those men were far, far away and had no way of knowing about his sad fate, made all the more sad in the face of a world that lacked his only child.

Still, if the drunken sailors' ramblings were given any credit – and Richard had always enjoyed spending time with sailors and naval officers – then Elizabeth had chosen the _Blackest Lion_ as her dying emblem, and for that reason alone (though not forgetting their allegiance to him) it was Richard's dearest wish that the men remain free on the waters when they would surely be imprisoned on land.

He stared aimlessly out of his window, tired of listening to his guards complain outside the door. The waters were dark and choppy, and there had been a storm coming for days. It was upon them now, and it would be bad. Storms had always been a terrible omen to him in the past when he depended on his trade ships and his naval ships for England's prosperity, but now he welcomed them. Storms brought destruction and doom, and both seemed fitting in the world he occupied.

A faint scratch coming from his fireplace went ignored as the thunder rolled once more, and Richard stood perfectly still by his window, his only remaining view of the cold, dark world. And it was only when he heard a consistent dull scraping, the sound of a slab of stone being moved, that he slowly turned around and took notice.

The pitiful fire in his fireplace was smothered with a piece of canvas, and the burnt logs crackled and crumbled underfoot as someone emerged from a secret tunnel of sorts. There were others behind him, but Richard didn't notice. He could only stare at this man as he straightened, proving to be as tall as he was, a man with long, dark hair and almost unearthly blue eyes, the man that could only be the Pirate Jason Morgan of the _Blackest Lion_.

The King's lips parted in surprise as he stared at his emblematic hero, but the young man averted his gaze to the stone floor and bowed low before him. The others that soon emerged from the tunnel dropped to one knee, all of them kneeling before the forgotten monarch.

His throat rough and his heart pounding, Richard advanced on them quickly, unable to bear the sight any longer. He placed one hand on the pirate's shoulder, squeezing it and silently bidding him to straighten. He did, his sword still at the ready, and took Richard's elbow.

"Sire, we've come to bring you back to your kingdom."


	7. In Her Majesty's Service

**Prompt - Caught up in this madness too blind to see Woke animal feelings in me Took over my sense and I lost control I'll taste your blood tonight.**

**Note **– Thanks to **Jodi **for the prompt, and for being a member here at Solo Ensemble!

** In Her Majesty's Service**

"Should I be worried, my friend, that you can infiltrate the royal palace with such ease?"

Jason smirked at the King's amused question even as his eyes carefully scanned the perimeter of the actual castle, watching for the guards that made the continuous nightly rounds. "Perhaps, Your Highness, but only if you remain uncertain as to my loyalties."

Richard smiled thinly and adjusted his hat, angling it downward to hide his features. "I shouldn't deserve your loyalty if I were uncertain."

"We have exactly five and three-quarters minutes to scale the wall up to the nursery," Gianni told them, holding his timepiece under the moonlight so as to see better. "'Tis that window, there. From there we can take the stairs down to the kitchen and go through the servants' quarters and find Lucas. He is always in his library at this time of night."

The King snorted. "I haven't the faintest idea why – he never excelled at his letters. Claimed that books were a bore, if I remember correctly."

"That is certainly evidenced in his manner of ruling," Spinelli muttered, earning an amused look from the resurrected monarch. "Shall we go, Jason?"

The guards had just disappeared behind the hedges, on their way around the northern face of the castle, and Jason nodded, lifting his sword so that all the men saw the signal. "We go."

* * *

Elizabeth awoke with a start when she heard the certain clang of swords. The commotion sounded distant at first but once she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, she knew it to be closer. The night was cold and unwelcoming, but the Princess slipped out of bed anyway and drew a thin robe over her blue silk nightgown. She stepped into her slippers and, reaching under her bedding, produced the shotgun that Jason had given to her on her first day aboard the Blackest Lion. Though she had left the sailor's life behind and returned to the castle, pretending to have been kidnapped by a French spy just like the stories that had circulated, she was never without her gun.

She undid the latch at her door – she always slept with her door locked should something unfortunate occur – and pulled it open with much effort, then slipped out into the hallway. The guards that usually patrolled the corridors of the royal family's private bedchambers were gone, meaning that there was indeed trouble, and she could be certain that Laura, Lulu, and Lucky were whimpering in fright in their bedrooms.

Elizabeth considered grabbing one of the many swords mounted to the palace walls but thought better of it and ran toward the stairs. She'd never be able to wield two weapons accurately and of the two, she much preferred the gun. It was certain to cause more damage, and at farther range, too.

The noises were coming from the private library just past the private parlor. Her uncle liked to sit in his library in the dark and drink and smoke before bed, and tonight was no different. Except for the fact that he had obviously been accosted while attempting to do so. Elizabeth hoped to find out just who it was, too, and what they wanted. What was that old saying about the enemy of one's enemy? She'd find out if his attackers were her friends soon enough.

Marching right into the conflict would be stupid. There were no two ways about it. So Elizabeth turned tail and circled all the way around the private library and ended up in the private parlor, where she thought she was safely on the outskirts of the conflict zone. But she had no sooner set foot into the dimly lit hall as her uncle summoned his guards than someone shouted her cousin Lulu's name, and called for her capture.

Her hand closed around the shotgun hidden under her robe but before she could clear up the misapprehension – by words or by opening fire, she hadn't yet decided – a skilled swordsman knocked her weapon away and closed in on her.

And Elizabeth could do nothing but scream – scream, as Jason had always told her she should – as the sharp point of a sword found her jugular.

* * *

"Guards!" King Lucas hollered when he saw that the ones stationed in the palace halls were engaged in conflict with a veritable horde of men. "GUARDS!"

His auxiliary guards could be heard clamoring up the corridor leading from the main hall as the intruders slew the last of the ones they were currently fighting, and Luke's lips parted in surprise when he spotted the two leaders of equal height, one with hair and eyes of the darkest brown and one with a dark golden mane and ghostly blue eyes.

"Morgan and Zacchara." Their names were a murmured curse. "By God."

The two men advanced on him, swords drawn and bloody, and Luke backed up down the hall as his men came storming up.

His features hardened, and the old man's eyes glittered cruelly. "I should have killed you worthless dogs when I had the chance."

"Indeed you should have," Gianni got out through gritted teeth. "We weren't the leaders of the revolutionaries the first time, but we've since learned our lesson. Your reign of terror is over, Luke."

The only one who ever called him by that name was his brother, and Richard had long since been removed from the equation. "Guards," the king called out, raising his hand as his men assembled, "Attack!"

The battle began anew, and the metallic clang of swords echoed through the tight corridors. The Blue Dragons fanned out around the Black Lions, taking care to shield Jason, Gianni, Spinelli and Richard, who were toward the center. Luke ducked past his men, trying to find safer quarters in which to hide until this was over, and spotted the partly ajar door to the family's private parlor.

Three guards were slain in front of him as he tried to get closer to the door, and Luke plastered himself against the cold walls and continued to inch forward. He was no more than five paces away from the door when he saw a figure in pale blue, his daughter's favorite color, emerge.

"Lulu!"

Morgan had heard him, damn the man, as had the Zacchara boy. The Italian shielded his Captain from a guard's deathly blow and made way for him to get to the girl. "Jason, grab the Princess Lesley! If we have his daughter, Luke is ours!"

Luke's terrified blue eyes met Jason's grim ones, and the younger man lunged through the melee before Luke could. The King saw his daughter reach for something in her robes and drew out a shotgun, the smart girl, with which to surely slay her attacker, but he was forced to watch helplessly as it was knocked from her hand and a sword was held to her pale throat.

"No!" Luke leapt toward his daughter but was stopped by the iron wall that was the older Zacchara boy, and the father could only watch in terror as his little girl let out a blood-curdling scream.

* * *

"Jason, stop!"

But Jason didn't need Gianni's warning cry to know to stop. He was already petrified, rooted to the floor where he stood, as he stared into the young woman's eyes. Princess Lulu, who had never worn a veil, was widely known to be blonde with warm yellow-brown eyes. This girl was a brunette with the most exquisite sapphire eyes, the likes of which man had never seen before.

Except for the fact that this man had, as had the rest of Jason's men. For the girl he held in his grasp, with his sword poised at her throat, was none other than the girl that had stowed away on the _Blackest Lion_, given them no information about herself, and run off into the Tobago night after imparting the news that the true King was alive and well.

This woman was Lizette Webster.

This woman was Elizabeth Webber, the only daughter of Richard the Lion-Heart.

Her eyes were large and liquid, pleading with him for something he knew not what, and Jason felt his head spinning. He was warm all over, and suddenly the sound of the skirmish and the other men and the palace walls all bled away along with the burden of his mission, until it was just him and her, standing together as they often had on the deck of his ship with only the moon watching from overhead.

Jason didn't even notice that the combat behind him had come to a grinding halt as all the men stared at the true Princess. He just felt his limbs turn to water, and his sword suddenly proved too heavy to hold at her throat. He pointed it downward, the point digging slightly into the floor, as Captain Jason Morgan, who had once sworn that he would kneel in front of no man but King Richard, dropped to one knee and lowered his head before the heir to the British throne.


	8. It All Started Aboard the HMS Morgan

**Prompt – Gossamer**

**Note **– Thanks to **Kristina **for the lovely prompt (isn't it such a pretty word?) and for being a member here at Solo Ensemble! This installment completes the H.M.S. mini-series; as if you hadn't noticed, all the titles in this mini-series involved the letters H, M, and S. Also, swords are dirty, and give rise to lots of other dirties. : Just saying. Also, I was so tempted to name the "Blue Dragons" "Meat Whistles" instead, but I figured that would be pushing it. Also, folks back then didn't think about meat whistles. They were all pure and such. :

**It All Started Aboard the H.M.S. Morgan**

"Put down your swords." Elizabeth's dark eyes scanned the room, glaring at the guards, the Lions, and the Dragons alike. "I said, _put down your swords_."

The auxiliary team of guards complied hesitantly. The Dragons and Lions, supporters of the Webber family, immediately lowered their arms and bowed at the waist before Richard's only child.

Letting out a slow, controlled breath, Elizabeth looked down at Jason, who remained on one knee before her. Her heart was hammering in her ears, so loud that the sound almost drove her mad. But she still heard the astonished murmurs from her former colleagues aboard the _Blackest Lion_.

"By God, it's Lizette."

"I can't believe it – do you suppose Jason was aware?"

"'T'would have explained his foul moods."

"Lizette is the Princess – I _knew _it."

Both Gianni and Ritchie stopped, turned, and biffed Spinelli upside the back of his head. "You did not, imbecile."

"She was always acting all proper and such."

"That's how real lady-folk act, half-wit."

She heard her uncle Luke shuffle his feet by the wall, and the old man attempted to draw nearer. "Elizabeth, these men have stormed the palace walls – please withdraw to your room while my men take them away."

"Do not move, Uncle," she commanded, raising her hand for the Lions to flank him. "No one shall move until I receive some answers."

"Elizabeth, this is unheard of-"

"Gianni, Ritchie, please stand by my uncle," she cut him off, her gaze trained faithfully on Jason. "I would like him to remain in audience."

The Zacchara brothers smirked and mockingly bowed their heads to the tyrant before tightly flanking him, their swords raised to the ready. "As you wish, Princess."

Elizabeth cleared her throat delicately and lifted her hand toward Jason. "Rise."

His gaze remained downcast as Jason pushed off from the floor and straightened, soon towering over her. He lifted his sword, holding it in both hands parallel to the floor, and when he finally looked down at her, Elizabeth's heart fluttered at the slightest hint of indulgence in his expressive eyes.

She gaped at him as he offered her his sword, just as any good knight would have to display his eternal allegiance. Swallowing roughly, Elizabeth grasped Jason's bejeweled sword by the handle, testing it for weight. Finding that it fit in her hand, she took it from him and wielded it above her head, turning it easily in her hand and bringing it swiftly to his throat.

His eyes were glittering now, and she knew instantly that she wasn't the only one transported to the deck of the _Blackest Lion_ when he gave her lessons in swordplay and fisticuffs. Elizabeth lifted her chin, the sword in her hand never wavering.

"State your name and title."

"Captain Jason Morgan, son of Doctor Alan Morgan."

"And these men?"

"Half mine, the crew of the _Blackest Lion_."

"The others?"

"Blue Dragons," he stated clearly. "Former members of the Black Lions."

"And what are the Black Lions?"

Jason glanced at the remaining auxiliary guards, who were listening most intently, and raised his voice as she kept the sword trained at his throat. He knew she did so for the benefit of the guards; in truth, the Princess was the only thing keeping them from slaying his men and the Dragons.

"A revolutionary group in support of the true King Richard III of England."

"_I_ am the true-"

"Quiet, Uncle, let the revolutionary speak," Elizabeth murmured. "We'll see what tales he tells. What is your business in the castle this night?"

Jason's eyes flicked instantly toward Luke. "To depose King Lucas and restore Richard the Lion-Heart to his rightful place as King of England."

Elizabeth's mouth twitched as the guards began to murmur amongst themselves, some out rightly calling her Captain a liar. "But Richard is dead."

"Richard is alive," Jason replied, his voice sounding oddly hollow even to his own ears. It was exactly the same line she'd delivered to him at the waterfront in Tobago. "He was captured by the French from the battlefields of Jerusalem, with King Lucas's collaboration, and held prisoner on the Island Elba. We have the documents to prove it."

Spinelli drew closer to the Princess, having pulled the papers bearing the seals of both Lucas and the French Emperor from his breast pocket. Elizabeth took them from him and without even glancing at the paperwork, handed it to the Captain of the Guards for his eager perusal. She had additional purloined paperwork hidden in her bedchambers that she would turn over to the Captain of the Guards as well for further corroboration of what the Black Lions asserted to be true.

Jason glanced down at the sword tip when he felt it waver, then looked at Elizabeth again. Her voice when she spoke wavered slightly as well.

"And where is King Richard now?"

His expression softened visibly, and Jason's eyes glowed as he gazed wordlessly down at the Princess. Francis, Max, and Milo each took a step to the side as a tall man clad all in black drew forward. He stripped off the scarf he wore over his nose and mouth and took off his hat and threw it aside.

"Right here, dear child."

Her face snapped instantly to where she heard her father's rusty timbre, and Elizabeth's glistening eyes widened in pure delight and relief. "Oh, Father!"

The King smiled and swept her up into his arms when his daughter raced toward him, flinging her arms, sword and all, around his neck. Spinelli, despite not wanting to disrupt the joyous reunion, quietly crept toward the King and his daughter and gently pried Jason's sword from Elizabeth's grip, returning with it to the Lions.

"No sense in letting there be an 'accident' that would render this entire mission futile," he joked, passing the sword back to his Captain after wiping some of the dried blood away with his sleeve. Jason accepted it and held it lowered to the floor as a sign of respect, watching from a distance as Richard pressed a kiss to his daughter's crown and continued to hold her close.

The guards, at this point, were more than convinced of what the Lions and Dragons held to be true, and were thrilled with the return of their King.

"It's Richard! He's alive!"

"The King has returned!"

"All hail the Lion-Heart! Long live Richard III, King of England!"

"And just where do you think you're going?" Ritchie laughed, actually grabbing Luke by the scruff of the neck when he tried to slink away. "Ho, Gianni, look, he thought he'd get away!"

Richard's pale blue eyes turned grim as he looked over at his quivering brother. "Guards, take my brother to the tower. I shall deal with him and his family come morning."

"Right away, Your Highness," came the immediate reply as the Captain of the Guards nearly tripped over himself in his eagerness to comply to the true King's orders. "I shall have an official proclamation drawn up for you by then as well. Sire, Princess."

He bowed and clapped his hands as the guards assembled around the fallen monarch. "To the tower!"

Elizabeth stepped out of her father's embrace but still gripped his hand tightly, as if fearing he'd vanish into thin air if she relinquished his hold. Her father returned his sword to its strap at his hip and looked around at the remaining men.

"The rest of you – clear away the dead," he ordered, "and summon the Royal Practitioners to see to the wounded. Damien, don't you dare attempt to hide: you are having your arm looked at."

Spinelli let out a beleaguered sigh and stepped out from behind Jason, who was smirking down at him. "Yes, Sire."

"Escort Lady Laura and her children to the West Wing of the palace," he continued. "They are to remain there with no contact with Lucas until the high courts settle their fate. And light these torches, fetch the lanterns. Awake the palace! Rouse the cooks, prepare a feast – these men are hungry. Get to it!"

"Right away, Your Highness," came the instant replies as his loyal men scattered to carry out his orders.

"Father?" Elizabeth tugged on his sleeve, looking up at him expectantly. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Richard frowned. "Am I?"

The princess bit her lip and looked around at the gathered revolutionaries. "Full pardons…?"

"Oh! Of course!" The King clapped his hands once more. "Summon the High Officers of my court and the Royal Scribes. The Black Lions and Blue Dragons shall all receive full pardons for any crimes they are alleged to have committed, as well as full honors on behalf of the Crown. To the royal hall!"

The men cheered and followed the King and the Captain of the Guards down the corridor as the others hastily cleared away the bodies of those who had been slain during the coup. Elizabeth intentionally withdrew, watching as her father ushered the men into his great dining hall, all the while exchanging terse orders with his Captain. There was much work to be done now that the monarchy had been restored, and it was clear that he wished not to waste a single moment.

She heard someone clear his throat behind her and knew who it was without turning. The remaining guards increased their efforts when they saw who remained behind in the hall and soon drew out of sight with the last of the corpses, leaving the two of them alone.

Elizabeth turned slowly, her eyes seeking out his. Jason stood just as he had before, his sword lowered in deference, and watched her with quiet affection and just a hint of amusement. She felt her lips pull into a smile, the excited, relieved, almost sheepish grin that only he could exact from her.

And before she could talk herself out of what she was doing, she crossed the distance between them with a few short steps and raised herself on her toes, throwing her arms around his neck. Jason immediately replaced his sword at his side and held her close, lowering his face into her hair to breathe her in. It had been six long, torturous months since they had last seen each other along the harbor at Tobago, and he had been dreaming of this reunion since then.

Never in his wildest dreams had he expected to find her this way, however. He understood what she meant now when she had apologized over and over after kissing him, thinking that she had committed a most egregious act by lying to him about her true parentage and past life. In the end, though, it hardly signified. She had omitted the truth out of a need for self-preservation, and Jason wasn't too proud to admit that he would have done the same if a situation truly called for it.

His hands remained rather enjoyably on her derriere as the princess pulled back, looking up at him with starry eyes, and Jason felt a smirk tug at his lips, matching that on hers.

Elizabeth batted her lashes, slowly and boldly running one hand down his chest, over to his side, and began playing with the handle of his bejeweled sword. "I always said that I'd have you kneeling before me one day."


End file.
